


because you're mine (i walk the line)

by twosetmeridian



Series: counterpoint [twosetviolin oneshots] [14]
Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Flirting, Friendship/Love, M/M, Romance, Sexual Tension, YouTube, canon compliant to real life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26025247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twosetmeridian/pseuds/twosetmeridian
Summary: it’s a game they play.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Series: counterpoint [twosetviolin oneshots] [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560592
Comments: 13
Kudos: 191





	because you're mine (i walk the line)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wholewheatbreddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholewheatbreddy/gifts).



> _→ concerning the white line on the flannel merch_
> 
> title from _i walk the line_ by johnny cash (though i prefer halsey’s cover).

it’s a game they play.

for all the fun and jokes and ceaseless laughter they’ve shared between the two of them, recording new videos is tedious. setting up their equipment and filming hundreds of different takes is challenging enough all on its own; thinking up interesting, comedic things to say makes it doubly so.

so, of course, in usual brett-and-eddy whatever-goes fashion, they’ve come up with a diversion—of sorts.

_who can break the other’s restraint first?_

it’s a game of flirtation they play to pass the time during and between takes, more often than not. other times, it’s a genuine competition, something they use for the rare occasions when they’re situated on opposite sides of a debate and need something to break the tie. who can tease the other into submission first? who’ll give in before the other does? it’s an exhilarating thing for both mind and body, especially in the strange shift of the dynamics between them, the new-ness of _this_ kind of relationship that makes the air between them sizzle and spark in all kinds of ways.

( _boyfriend_ ’s never been a word he would’ve associated with eddy chen, years and years before this moment. _romantic partner_ ’s never been a term he’d think about and at eddy chen’s general direction, but there it is now, like a living, breathing thing between them that brett wants to tuck beneath his breastbone and hold close for the rest of his days, like a cuddly kitten or a baby chick. it’s gross. it’s sappy. fuck, but brett _loves_ it.)

it’s a game they play. and today’s video is a whole new battleground.

eddy’s decided to don the new flannel to advertise it, the red fabric falling over his broad shoulders in a way that makes something whimper at the back of brett’s throat. god, but the other man really does look good in flannel. it’s half distracting, is what it is, but brett’s been at this rodeo a thousand times before, having perfected his resting bitch face a thousand times moreso. he can ignore it; he can control it. with the kind of determination he normally reserves for practicing tchaikovsky, brett deliberately shifts his focus from the man stretching beside him to the article of clothing he wears.

whoever’s in charge of this particular merch piece has made very interesting design choices. a venn-diagram logo, differing font faces, a long white line running down the back. brett doesn’t really understand any of that visual artsy shit—he’s only ever been a musician for a _reason_ —but he’d be damned if he doesn’t try his best to sell the thing. _that’s right, guys; get onto it_.

they’re looking to answer some quizzes, free bubble tea on the line for whoever wins. brett’s already trying to wrack his brain for ready and accessible answers, too caught up in the adrenaline of the moment to notice the way eddy stills, his adam’s apple bobbing and his grin stuck wide open for a few seconds before he volleys back a response.

and then of course, without any warning, the game begins.

“so we’re gonna do the first one,” eddy says, leaning forward as if to swipe at the mobile screen, but then his hand lands on brett’s knee, stroking the inside of his thigh, and _wait_ , “which will be—orchestral instrument quiz.”

“yes,” brett says, face suddenly frozen in inaction.

“cool,” eddy continues, sliding his hand upward before he removes it to wave at the air a little, and it takes a few more words into his spiel for brett to smack his brain back online, blinking three times and then interjecting with a different variation of the question he’s already asked, like, ten seconds ago.

what the fuck. what the _fuck_.

“okay, so—okay.” brett stands up, tries to take a few determined steps away from the table. his legs turn to jelly right after.

“oh _shit!_ ” eddy yells, laughter coloring his words as brett catches himself with a hand flung out to a nearby table. bastard doesn’t even try to let him get away with his off-screen mishap, the _asshole_. “brett nearly tripped, and like, made every filming light collapse.”

brett’s cheeks warm as he laughs it off shakily, sputters out an excuse, something about skating? _what the fuck._ eddy isn’t fooled, if the sharp gaze and the faint air of knowing amusement are of any indication.

he makes a mental reminder to edit this next part out from the recording before they send it off to editor-san. “fuck you,” says brett, tail between his legs in shame as he scampers for the door.

“later,” says eddy, breezily. composed. a smug gleam to his eyes.

and that’s just. that’s not fair.

brett works himself up into a state of frustration so severe, he starts misspelling names he’s learned since primary school. or something. he’s not quite sure what’s happening anymore, and as the timer ticks down to zero twice with very little accomplishment to show for it, he’s pretty sure he’s lost the competition before he’s even begun.

there’s only one person who can cause him to forget, who can cause him to drop everything at the drop of a hat and the flicker of a smile, and he’s in the other room no doubt winning this fucking thing.

and that’s not something brett’s competitive streak can forgive easily.

he returns to the room with a smile he does _not_ fucking feel, and hell, but eddy sees right through the veneer, bursting into laughter and not even bothering to ask his score. which is—fine. this is the game they play. eddy’s scored a point that’s put him in the lead, but that doesn’t mean this is the end. they’ve still got a few more minutes to film.

and so, brett allows the filter of modesty to fall from his mind, allows the walls of decency to come tumbling down where it’s kept the hungry thoughts at bay. they’re alone, they’re filming, they’re _alone_ —he’s allowed to tease here.

his musings come to a screeching halt when his eyes land on that broad line carving up the back of the flannel. brett wants so badly to walk his fingers down that white road, and really, with a temptation that enticing so easily within his reach, he decides: what’s keeping him from doing so right now?

( _point to brett yang_ , his mind chants, _incoming point to brett yang_.)

“and check it out.” he grabs eddy by the flannel, plucks at the cloth in a wordless command to turn around, which the other man does without any sort of hesitation. in a less bedraggled mindset, brett’s heart would’ve melted at that little detail, but right now, he’s focused on one-upping this man. he’s focused on leveling the playing field, on shaking that smug look off eddy’s face and knowing exactly where things stand.

he wants to _affect_ as much as he’s been affected.

“mmm, don’t miss it guys. remember, the long ride of journey of practice,” he begins, placing his finger in a place way, _way_ below eddy’s spine, and then dragging it over that white line upwards to where it cuts off. this close, brett can see the way eddy twitches minutely at his touch, feels the way eddy’s back muscles clench under his ministrations.

“ _four_ -ty hours.”

_hours and hours and hours._

eddy shivers under all that luscious red encasing him, and _oh_ , brett knows he’s got him. he couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin on his face if he’d tried.

“get it?” he chuckles, stands up to walk to the camera and pretends he’s fiddling around with the buttons for a moment when he hears the other chair screech against the floor, footsteps nearing where he stands waiting.

he doesn’t even need to turn his head to know eddy’s looming behind him, and he sure as hell doesn’t need to look to recognize the expression on eddy’s face. “oh, _i_ get it.”

and, well—the camera’s off. there isn’t much talking to be had after that.

“i’ll get you back for that next time,” eddy says much, much later, looking a little bit like he’s wandered into the path of a tornado and just barely managed to escape with his limbs intact. brett takes a moment to admire his handiwork, grin widening when he catches eddy doing the exact same thing to him, and then sighs, burying his face in the crumpled folds of the flannel stretching over eddy’s chest.

he might not understand the design choices at times, but he can always appreciate the outcomes. _ling ling bless twoset apparel_ , he thinks, in a strange limbo of whole-heartedly but half-heartedly meaning it.

“i look forward to the challenge,” brett smirks, crushing the smile on his mouth against the ridge of eddy’s collarbone. “bubble tea?”

eddy’s arms tighten around him. he closes his eyes against the warmth. “later.”

(it’s a game they play, but it’s a game they both win, always.)


End file.
